The guards had led me to a private room where Matteo sat across a metal table, his once-immaculate appearance now reduced to institutional simplicity. His right hand hung useless at his side—the wrist I'd nearly snapped when disarming him had never healed properly. The man who'd once tried to claim what wasn't his looked diminished now, broken—exactly as I'd intended.
"Cousin," he'd said, his voice hoarse from disuse.
I hadn't bothered with pleasantries. "You're being erased. Your assets have been liquidated. Your men now work for me. Your name has been removed from family records."
"You can't erase blood," he'd sneered, though the effect was diminished by the tremor in his voice.
"I already have." I leaned forward, my voice dropping. "I didn't kill you because my son was watching. But you'll never be free again. This facility? It's comfortable. Clean. You'll live a long life here. Decades, probably. But you'll do it alone, with no power, no legacy, no name. Just a ghost that the family forgot."
His eyes had flickered with the first real fear I'd seen in them. He understood then. Death would have been cleaner than what I'd arranged for him.
"The family—" he'd started.
"Recognizes me as the only heir," I finished for him. "The council voted unanimously after your… indiscretion. Kidnapping a child tends to lose you support, cousin."
Matteo had fallen silent, the reality of his situation settling over him like ash. He would live out his days in this facility, comfortable but contained, with no contact with the outside world. No power. No legacy. No name.
I'd stood to leave, straightening my cuffs.
"Was it worth it?" he'd asked as I reached the door. "Throwing away everything our fathers built for some woman and a bastard child?"
I hadn't turned around. Hadn't given him the satisfaction of seeing my face when I answered.
"Yes."
I'd walked away without looking back, leaving my past behind me in that sterile room.
"Boss." Marco's voice pulled me from the memory. He stood at the corner, as he always did on school mornings, maintaining a discreet distance but close enough to respond if needed.
I crossed to meet him. "Status?"
"All quiet. The Brooklyn operation is running smoothly. Calabrese sent word—he's pleased with the new arrangement." Marco pulled up his tablet and showed me the latest reports. "And the senator's bill passed. Your contribution was… appreciated."
I nodded, scanning the numbers. The business still ran. The family still answered to me. But I'd restructured everything over the pastyear—delegating more, creating distance between the violent aspects and my day-to-day life.
I'd never be completely clean. That wasn't possible given what I'd built, what I'd done. But I could be cleaner. For them.
"What about the Chicago situation?" I asked.
"Resolved peacefully. The Castellanos agreed to our terms without… complications."
Peacefully. That was new. The old Cassian would have made an example, used violence to establish dominance. The new Cassian—the one who read bedtime stories and made pancakes—preferred negotiation.
When possible.
"Good. Keep me updated on any changes." I glanced back toward the preschool, where Isla was emerging alone, having dropped Leo at his classroom. "I'll be at the office by ten."
"The afternoon's clear. Michael has the Taiwan call handled."
I'd promoted Marcus's younger brother to replace him. The family had been grateful, said it brought them comfort to know Michael carried on his brother's legacy. I'd made sure they were taken care of—college funds for Marcus's kids, the mortgage paid off, a generous settlement that would keep them comfortable for life.
It didn't bring Marcus back. Didn't erase my guilt. But it was something.
Isla reached me, sliding her hand into mine. "Ready to head home?"
"Almost." I had one more stop to make. "Can we detour through the park? Just for a minute?"
She studied my face, seeing something there. "Of course."
